Like A Stain

I want to somehow tell him that “I’m here.” Whenever he is ready, “I’m here.” It can be our secret – I’ll never tell. It’s something that I’d cherish and keep close to my soul. Just as I do with my thoughts.

It’s weird. I wouldn’t even want a relationship, just a night of lovemaking, and to talk over breakfast the next morning.

He’s my first love, and I’m sort of sad we never slept together. I guess it’s my curiosity that drives me. Maybe it’s my curiosity that keeps me bound to him, even after many years of separation (14 and counting…). Maybe somehow, just somehow, I feel that our chapter is not closed.

The questions of “how, why, and what,” leave me feeling incomplete. If I were to die today, my diaries would leave behind a legacy of pain and yearning for that one night. If he were to die, regret would plague me, and the “shoulda, coulda, woulda” scenarios would keep me mentally captivated.

I push my desires to the side because his family comes first. I dare not come between him and his happiness. So quiet I remain. Distant friends we shall be. And in the process, my life will move forward. Damn – that’s love.